


i'm still a believer but i don't know why

by lieyuu



Category: Dream SMP (Video Blogging RPF), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Betaed, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Gen, I give up, Introspection, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Pandora's Box, Prison Visit, Relationship Study, Sapnap visits Dream in prison, Temporary Character Death, all i ever write are introspection-y conversation fics apparently please help, but only in the 'the author has brainrot and couldn't resist' way, friends to not quite enemies but they're probably not really still friends, kinda idk, mentioned gnf and kind of implied dnf, my dude how do we tag this wtf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 06:47:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29346108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lieyuu/pseuds/lieyuu
Summary: The lava parts like the curtains of a stage. The play begins - it’s a war of wills between the sole actor and one-man audience, a game of who will break first. A game of who will look the truth in the eye first.Sapnap visits Dream in prison.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 67





	i'm still a believer but i don't know why

**Author's Note:**

> \- most of the dialogue is a direct transcription, but i’ve removed/replaced a word here or there for pacing purposes (sapnap repeats things a lot) (fun fact my transcription was 1220 words)  
> \- respawns are non-canon deaths; given worldbuilding, ‘canon death’ shouldn’t really be a term that exists if we want to keep the weight of death, so i’m referring to all other non-natural deaths as respawns  
> \- i also do not know the difference, in practical use, between the two. it wasn’t relevant for this fic so i simply didn’t bother figuring it out  
> \- i wrote half of this between 1 and 4 am tuesday night/wednesday morning (my computer also crashed halfway through ??? if you know computers do let me know if i should be concerned abt my fans making a loud whoosh noise) and the other half during a 45 min bible class. not relevant i just wanted to share how deep the brainrot runs  
> \- could be read as dreamnap, but it wasn’t written w that intent
> 
> title from _mirrorball_ by taylor swift
> 
> very cool poggers betas: [leo](https://twitter.com/hdnprplflwrs), [jax](https://twitter.com/thepaperbones1)

In front of him, there is a cavern of lava, covering a single obsidian cell. Behind him, there are twenty different deaths and spawn points and security measures. They’re all made for one reason - to protect Sapnap, and everyone else outside, from his best friend. 

“Just so you know, Sapnap, I think you should know -” Sam begins - the hesitancy in his voice is faint, possibly more imagined than real, but it’s still the most emotion he’s shown all night. “Um. Good luck getting him to talk.” 

“What do you mean?” Sapnap asks, wary, wary, wary. All these people who used to be his friends - somehow, he can no longer find it in himself to trust them.

“Just - good luck getting him to talk,” Sam repeats, no less cryptic than the first time around. His mask blocks his expression from view, but Sapnap likes to think the tremble of the netherite sword is real, and not just the heat from the lava distorting his sight.

He glances over his shoulder at the lava, like he can see Dream - see his  _ best friend  _ \- through the layers of liquid fire. “Is he not talkative?”

There is a long, long pause, and then Sam’s grip on the sword tightens imperceptibly. He says, deceivingly calm, “Something like that.”

“Alright,” Sapnap murmurs in response. He resettles to face the lava, listens for the quiet sound of turning gears over the bubbling. It’s faint, but there - whirring gently like a mechanical lullaby.

Somewhere in the midst of the lava, he hears a mob dying. Zombie, by the sound of it - its chokes are guttural and groaning, each snarl punctuated with the quiet sounds of dying. He wonders if he should tell Sam, warn him that there’s a space somewhere in there where monsters are spawning.

He wonders if Sam knows.

The lava parts like the curtains of a stage. The play begins - it’s a war of wills between the sole actor and one-man audience, a game of who will break first. A game of who will look the truth in the eye first.

Dream has always been braver. But Sapnap eyes him on the other end of the glowing abyss, takes in the way he stands and stares, motionless, at a small clock on the wall. His arms, usually animated beyond belief, hang still and boneless at his sides. Dream has always been braver, but the person in front of him is someone almost unrecognizable, a man who used to be his best friend, now warped beyond belief.

The play is a carnival story, set in a future where the acrobats and rodeo clowns have gone home. A kid wanders into the hall of funhouse mirrors, finds himself distorted within. Prop seven is a mask - demons take shelter within its unassuming smiles. There’s still only one actor on stage. 

The platform - really, a engineering marvel, he should ask Sam about it sometime - deposits Sapnap gently at the other dock. The obsidian is warm beneath his feet, warm enough to feel through the soles of his shoes. The netherite, when he touches it, hums with the weight of redstone. 

Dream glances over at him, bored and uninterested. He turns away, walks down the length of the cell towards his lectern. 

Sapnap doesn’t know what he expected.

The shifting of the platform pulling back is the only sound for a minute or two, then Sam says, “I’m gonna drop the lava now. I’ll open the gate shortly.”

The gate. The netherite. The one, indestructible thing between Sapnap and Dream.

When he turns back around from the lava, Dream is looking at him, but he turns away quickly, back to fiddling with his clock on the wall. Sapnap uses the time to take him in - his posture is slumped. His fingers move slow, like they’re trapped in sap, preserved in amber. It’s a far cry from how he used to be, but - things are a far cry from how they used to be. 

The lava falls like a curtain too, same as it dropped. Sam disappears from view behind an ocean of flame, and the click of the gate as it sinks into the ground is loud and final. When he steps over it, he crosses a line he doesn’t know the defense of. 

“Hello,” Sapnap says, voice strangely small in the stifling obsidian walls. Dream stands just in front of him, a few feet away - he looks over. The lack of the mask Sapnap has gotten so used to seeing almost startles him, but he holds his tongue. Dream’s eyes are flat and tired, and the lines of his mouth turn down. “Dream?”

Dream turns away from him, back to the clock again. He takes it from the wall delicately, loving and almost reverent.

Reverence has never looked good on Dream.

Prison hasn’t changed that, at the very least.

“You okay?” Sapnap asks cautiously, taking a step closer. “You’re - holding a clock.”

It feels silly, stating the obvious. But something about the whole situation is ridiculous, and Dream doesn’t roll his eyes and say  _ thanks, I didn’t realize  _ like he might’ve once upon a time, so Sapnap can’t find it in him to care.

Dream pulls a small notebook out of his pocket, quill included. “How you doing, man?” Sapnap asks, tracking his movements. He’s desperate for a reaction - feels it in his soul, in his lungs and throat, an itch he can’t scratch.

Dream carefully, deliberately, writes something in the book. His hand shakes, but he doesn’t seem to notice the effort it appears to be taking him.

_ I am not talking. _

“Okay,” Sapnap says, letting out a quiet breath. The handwriting is familiar. The setting is wrong and the time is wrong and the people are  _ so  _ wrong, but the handwriting is familiar. “Okay. Why aren’t you talking? Are - are you sad?”

He tries offering the book back, and Dream does take it and look at it for a moment before handing it back silently. 

_ I am not talking. _

Sapnap looks at it for a moment then hands it back to him again. 

“Can you say anything other than ‘I am not talking’?” The desperation rises. The curtain doesn’t move. Dream turns back to his  _ fucking  _ clock.

He spins it curiously once or twice, then steps to the side and gestures towards its space on the wall. Sapnap gives him a hesitant look, then steps closer to get a better look.  _ DO NOT BURN  _ is engraved in large letters along the bottom edge of it, painted in red.

“Okay,” Sapnap says, slow and trying to ignore the implications. “You have a clock.”

Dream glances at him, at the clock, then down at his book. He leans against the wall and slides down it almost absentmindedly, tucks his knees up and begins scrawling. Something almost like hope flickers within Sapnap - maybe he’s finally getting a response.

Dream writes for a long time, and Sapnap uses the empty space in the conversation to look around the cell. There’s a small pool in the back corner, a chest of books, a lectern. The clock. There’s no bed, or crafting table, or furnace - of course. Security measures, and all. 

The cell is in no means a home, so there shouldn’t even need to be those three things.  _ Put a crafting table next to a furnace and that there’s a  _ home, is a common enough saying. Dream lives here. Dream will live here for the rest of his life. This is not his home.

His home is with Sapnap and George, his home is beside them, his home isn’t this stupid fucking obsidian cell he built and got himself locked into.

“I mean,” Sapnap says after a minute or two, “take your time if you need to.”

_ Take your time coming home,  _ he wishes he could add. He wishes for so many things. He’s long since accepted that his wishes don’t come true.

When Dream finally passes the book over, the single phrase inside is almost a mockery of how long he spent writing. A mockery of how long Sapnap stood in the middle of the cell, staring at the pool and the lectern and wondering how to make obsidian feel like a bed.

_ you took so long. _

“Well,” Sapnap says, tearing his eyes away from the words, “I don’t know, man, you hurt a lot of people but you hurt - specifically me.”

He remembers, distinctly, thinking,  _ so much for best fucking friends. _

“Specifically me,” he repeats, “with all the stuff you’ve done. So it - it took me a little bit, to decide to come and see you. It wasn’t the easiest thing, but - you know.”

Admitting it out loud is tearing himself open, exposing his raw, bloody heart. He loves Dream; he hates Dream. He wants nothing more than to have one of his hugs again, and he wants nothing more than to never see his stupid freckled face again.

It is what it is. This is how he is, how they are. 

“I feel like -” Sapnap tries, stumbling over his words and stumbling over his feelings, “I mean - I dunno man, it’s like. You’re better than this.”

Dream glances away sharply, up and at the clock. His whole body twists with it - his back may as well be to Sapnap. He may as well be dismissing him.

In a brave but failed attempt to keep the bitterness out of his voice, Sapnap asks, “Do you just like to look at that clock? You don’t know what to say?”

Dream stands up, his expression still flat and empty. He takes a step away from the clock, then turns back around towards it. Away, to. He looks torn.

Sapnap knows the feeling. 

“I mean,” he tries for, “you can talk to me, you know. Once upon a time, we  _ were  _ best friends.” 

Once upon a time, once upon a time, eons and lifetimes ago.  _ Once upon a time  _ is how fairytales start, and Sapnap doesn’t get to live fairytales.

Dream swats at the clock, and it goes flying off its hook - Sapnap catches it, and offers it back to him. Dream takes it, almost sheepish, and begins writing in his book again.

_ im on strike. _

“You’re on strike?” Sapnap echoes. He pauses, floundering for something to say. “I’ve heard - I’ve heard that you, uh, that you haven’t been the most well-behaved. I heard you have a problem with burning clocks, I think - so you’re just not. You’re not gonna talk to anyone for as long as you’re in here, or until when. What are you on strike for?” 

Dream holds out a hand for the book, innocently patient, and Sapnap hands it back. Something about the exchange is comforting - Dream is still, in some ways, Dream. Even if he’s not talking, even if he’s a criminal locked away.

It’s the criminal part that gets to Sapnap. That Dream can still be Dream and yet be this version of himself who traumatizes teenagers and threatens murder and burning and destroys entire countries for the sake of - for the sake of what?

The breath Sapnap lets out is loud and heavy.

Dream starts a little at the sound, glances up before turning away, body angled towards the lava. He keeps writing; Sapnap ignores the pang in his chest. 

“Your cell’s looking a little run-down,” he says, in efforts to keep the conversation up. He looks around, gestures vaguely towards the purple-streaked obsidian embedded into the walls and floors. “Is it always like this?”

_ it was a security measure. _

Sapnap reads it out loud, in a half-murmur to himself, then looks up. He sees, now - while it may have looked random, the crying obsidian is strategically placed to prevent any potential Nether portal spots. “Oh. Okay.”

He pauses and hands the book back, looks around again. “You should really talk to me man, you know, even though like. You know - you’ve done bad things, and you - you deserve to be in here. But that doesn’t mean you can’t - you know, somewhat be friends anymore.”

Dream doesn’t react, or respond. Sapnap takes a breath.

“Whatever,” he mumbles. “This is where you gotta be for now.”

Dream scrawls something in the book, quick and angry and uncharacteristically emotional. When he hands the book to Sapnap, something in his eyes is fierce. It’s simultaneously terrifying and relieving - then it falls away, and he goes back to the empty blankness.

_ i’ll get out one day. _

Sapnap stares at it, at Dream, back down at it. “No,” he says vehemently, “dude, you can’t - like I love you, man, but you gotta stay here. This is where you belong for now. Maybe - maybe one day, if everyone’s cool with it.”

The chances of which are miniscule, but he’s not going to be the one to tell Dream that. Especially not when he probably already knows anyways.

Dream tugs the book out of Sapnap’s grip - their hands don’t brush, but he finds himself following the movement and trying anyway - and begins scrawling again. The anger is back. It’s almost like a switch he can flip on and off, and it terrifies Sapnap. 

_ i spent days i broke the lectern i was making a portal and then he did this _

“Dude, Dream, you - you can’t -” Sapnap huffs a laugh, disbelief or anger or grief leaking out with it, “- you can’t try and escape, okay? Like, I miss you being out there with us too, but what you did - you gotta stay here. This is where you belong for now.”

Something in Dream’s already-blank face shutters, and on instinct, Sapnap hurries to reassure him. Ten or so years of friendship will do that to you - the desperate, aching urge to keep happy, keep safe, coded into his DNA.

“I’ll come and visit you,” Sapnap continues, the words coming out in a rush. “George’ll come and visit you. You know. We can still be friends, but dude - you have to stay here for now.”

Dream turns, slow and sudden all at once, away from him.

“I’m sorry,” Sapnap says, softly - he wants to reach out, but his arms and hands hang useless at his side, and Dream stands away with the distance of a block and miles between them. “I don’t want you to be sad, or upset, but I think you also know that this is where you gotta be.” 

“You have to stay here for now,” he adds, and feels it deep in his bones. Coded into his DNA.

Dream is still for a moment, and Sapnap almost thinks he’s gotten through to him -  _ good, good, please be rational, please still be Dream, all clever logic and sound reasoning, please don’t be the monster everyone says you are  _ \- then Dream darts towards the lava, and Sapnap follows with wide eyes and  _ no  _ on the tip of his tongue, and a drop of molten metal falls on the edge of the cell as the rest of the clock burns in the lava.

Dream turns back towards his lectern, hands in his pockets like nothing had happened at all. Sapnap glances at the lava and at Dream, and follows him. “Come on now,” he tries, desperately trying to talk to what appears to be a brick wall, “that’s just gonna make Awesamdude mad, and - you’re just making this harder on yourself. You don’t - you don’t have to make this more difficult than it needs to be. You’re gonna stay here, and yeah it’s gonna suck, but you’re tough. You can get through it.”

Dream pauses, head tilted. He kneels and picks the book up off the floor where Sapnap had abandoned it, writes slow and deliberate in its pages. When he stands up, his back is ramrod straight, and it’s like he carries something different within himself. Like the anger, like the switch.

_ eventually.  _

“No,” Sapnap says, and he bites his tongue to keep the heartbreak out. “You might have to stay here forever, dude. I don’t think you’re leaving here.”

_ eventually. _

“No,” Sapnap repeats, harsher and more insistent, “No. Dream,  _ no. _ ”

Dream doesn’t even take the book back this time, just turns his back on Sapnap when he tries to return it. The  _ eventually  _ stares back at him, the black in his handwriting bleeding like a mockery.

“Dream,” Sapnap tries again, pushing the book across the obsidian, “No. No - you have to -”

Dream turns sharply, picks the book up and marches over, practically slams the book into Sapnap’s chest. It’s the most emotional he’s been all night. His eyes shine, something fierce, and it’s almost a joy to see it.

But just like all the other times the anger had shown, he deflates immediately, the tightness in his shoulders dropping like a marionette with cut strings. His eyes empty, and he sits on the ground with arms wrapped around his knees, staring out at the lava.

“Dream,” Sapnap says, like if he repeats the name enough he’ll come home, “I - I want this to be clear to you, okay? What you did - the things you did - they’re what got you here, okay? So you gotta stay here until - until however long you need to be.”

“And if you try and come out and break out early, Dream,” he continues, and laughs a little bitterly about it, “if you try and break out early. You only have one life left, okay, and. You know? I don’t think it’s gonna be Tommy. It’s not gonna be Techno.”

Sapnap takes a deep breath, prepares himself to face the truth. For once, he can be the brave one. 

“If you break out of this prison? It’s gonna - it’s gonna be me, who takes your final life.”

The words hang in the air, drop in Sapnap’s gut like a ball and chain. Dream doesn’t react at all.

“And that’s not, that’s not because I have any resentment towards you or anything,” Sapnap says hastily, already so eager to clear the air between them. It could be cowardice. It could be bravery. Dream stands up, eyes still fixed on the lava, and wanders towards it. “That’s because - this is where you need to be, dude. You have to stay here. We can still be friends, I can come and visit you, but you need to stay here. And I think you need to - fix your act, a little. You don’t need to throw your clocks away, you don’t need to do all this.”

Dream pauses, then begins writing again. Something like hope flickers in Sapnap’s chest.

_ can you pass a message _

The hope dies, and Sapnap fights back the urge to scream and shout and beg Dream for any kind of acknowledgement. Even the anger, again.  _ Make it easy for me to hate you,  _ he thinks, desperate.  _ Make it easy for me to love you. _

“To who and for what,” he says out loud, flatly. “I don’t wanna -”

Dream cuts him off with a single hand stretched out, book offered on his palm. Sapnap takes it.

_ he stopped visiting _

Sapnap can’t say he knows much about who’s been visiting Dream - he knows Tommy was the first visitor, but that’s about it. “Who stopped visiting?” he asks, and fights the urge to scowl when Dream wanders off towards the lava again. “Who stopped visiting you? You can tell me, dude. You can still trust me.”

The weight of the word is heavy on his tongue. He says it anyways.

Dream writes in the book jerkily, like he can’t quite convince himself to do it.  _ ranboo,  _ it reads. Funny, Sapnap hadn’t even known the kid had been visiting.

“Ranboo?” he repeats, just to be sure. “You want me to pass a message to Ranboo for you? What message?”

This time, Sapnap can track the movements of the quill. The two dots and the curve. A smiley face, the kind he’s always associated with Dream. Something about the shape of it on the paper feels different this time, all twisted and wrong.

“Just a smile?” Sapnap asks, hesitantly. “I mean. I guess, that doesn’t really seem like - if you really want me to. Doesn’t seem like a big deal to me, it’s just a smile, but - I guess I can do that for you.”

_ thank you _

Sapnap can hear it in Dream’s voice, but he can’t reconcile the sound in his head with the person in front of him. He looks down at the words, looks up at Dream. They don’t fit - the puzzle piece you break in your efforts to make fit.

“Yeah,” he says breathlessly, eyes searching for a hint of familiarity, “No problem. But will you - will you quit acting up if I pass that message? Can you promise me that? Will you stop throwing your clocks away and will you start talking?”

Dream’s flinch would be imperceptible, if Sapnap hadn’t known him for most of their lives. “At least just stop throwing your clocks away,” he amends. “You don’t have to - if you’re not ready to talk, you’re not ready to talk.”

Dream’s throat bobs, and his lips part. “Okay,” he says, near-silent - his voice is hoarse and pained, like he’s been screaming and wants to continue, but doesn’t have the energy for it. In the book, he writes,  _ okay,  _ and pushes it to Sapnap.

Sapnap’s heart doesn’t shatter, but it’s a near thing. 

“Okay,” he says, letting out a shaky breath, “Alright. I’ll pass that message for you.”

“It’s just a smiley face anyways,” he mutters to himself, looking down at the book. “Doesn’t mean anything.” 

Louder, he continues, “I’ll pass that message on, and you’ll act better. I’ll - I’ll visit you. Do you want me to ask George to visit you? Maybe he wants to visit you. I think - I think you should see George, I think George should visit.”

If Sapnap can’t get through to him, maybe George can. Sapnap and Dream are lifelong best friends, but he and George connected in a way he never did with anyone else.

And if George can’t - well, Sapnap will be here too. They can try, together, like they should’ve. Like they should always be.

_ yes,  _ Dream writes.  _ and tell the warden I need a new clock _

Right. The clock. The drop of metal is still glistening by the edge of the cell. 

“Alright,” Sapnap mutters. He clears his throat and tries again. “Alright. Well. I’ll do both those things for you, okay, dude? Just - just stay here, and just be good, okay? That’s the best thing for you, alright? Okay.”

Dream pulls another book out of his chest and writes in it, carefully. This time, Sapnap sees him lock the pages and scrawl his name and a title into the front cover.

_ thank you for visiting me _

Sapnap swallows around the lump in his throat and tucks the book into his pocket carefully, delicately. “No problem,” he says, voice dry. “Alright, Dream. It was good seeing you.”

Dream looks away from him, at the wall. He shrugs one shoulder and drops his feet into the pool - the ripples are quiet and gentle. He sits there for a moment before backing up and into a corner, curled against the wall and staring blankly at nothing. 

Sapnap watches Dream for another moment before reaching for his communicator and typing out a quick message to Sam. Something in the air crackles, and Sam’s voice, stark and serious as always, says, “Are you ready to go?”

“Yeah,” Sapnap says, letting a breath out, soft. “I’m ready to go.”

The lava doesn’t part; the curtains don’t rise. Sam says, “Please stand in the water.”

“Stand in the water?” Sapnap repeats, but he already moves towards it, instinctively. Dream stands up quickly as he nears and darts towards the water, stands in the pool and slouches against the wall. His eyes flutter shut, and the effort it looks like it takes to reopen them is Herculean. 

“Yep,” Sam says, dry and sardonic. Sapnap steps into the water - it’s warm, surprisingly. Dream glances over at him with half-lidded eyes and pushes himself off the wall, takes a step forward.

The pool is small. He’s standing right in front of Sapnap, and his arms are limp at his sides, but his left hand is curled lightly.

“Okay,” Sapnap says out loud, for Sam and for Dream. He closes the distance between them, wraps his arms around Dream’s waist and tucks his face into his shoulder.

Dream stiffens, then relaxes in a tight way, like he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself. Sapnap hears the water ripple when his hands flex against it, and he smiles into Dream’s shoulder.

_ It’s okay,  _ he wants to say. It’s not, and Dream is still going to be stuck in this tiny little obsidian not-home, but maybe it will be one day.  _ It’s okay. A hug won’t kill you, and it won’t kill me. _

He hears the click of the dispenser a half second before the potions come flying down. He stands on his tip-toes, tucks his head over Dream’s shoulder, and pretends he can protect him from this pain, just like he couldn’t from all the others.

When he respawns, Dream isn’t there.

The notification in the global communicator says they both respawned to potions, Dream a moment after him. It’s a strange kind of satisfaction, knowing you protected someone, however brief. However monstrous.

“Welcome back,” Sam says. Flat. Sapnap glances back at the curtain forever dropped, imagines Dream sitting in the pool alone on the other side.

He tries to imagine a  _ welcome back  _ for Dream, one day - for some reason, his mind can’t picture it, and refuses to entertain the idea. He reaches for the image, and it’s like there’s a barrier block in front of him. 

Curtains closed, funhouse mirrors shattered. Millenia of bad luck, or maybe that’s inverted too. 

Dream will not be welcomed back.

In front of him, there are the deaths and spawn points and security measures. In front of him is the rest of his life, the prime path and his friends and a million different reasons to be happy, to count his blessings. 

Behind him is the one reason he thought he needed. Behind him is the one blessing he cannot count.

It is, Sapnap supposes, what it is. 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you very much for reading! comments and kudos much appreciated, though no promises on a speedy response <3
> 
> [my twitter](https://twitter.com/sxlaine)


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